Out of the Maelstrom
by Gayle Cara Maxwell
Summary: A SND 3rd Season tale. When loving someone, never regret what you do; only regret what you don't do!


**Out of the Maelstrom**

Originally published for WFOL 2012

SND / PG13 by Gayle Cara Maxwell

baileysbandit gmail . com

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**When loving someone, never regret what you do; only regret what you don't do!**

Vincent had stood there countless times, only now the edge of his boots teetered over the crumbling shoulder to give him the encouragement his heart didn't have the gumption to serve. The bridge straddling the Abyss had been a place of childhood mischievousness; now it was his respite. The air around them swirled nearly viscous, as if it held the two of them from the edge.

"If I fall, now, we fall together." Was it his darker "Other" self that muttered these words, or was it his broken heart?

His heart broke once the helicopter pulled away, broken by Catherine's words of their loving and of a child. As he held his lifeless Catherine in his arms he mourned their truncated family life. Did he believe their child lived? Could he rely on the kindness he was extended at his birth? The child was gone… their son missing with Gabriel's scattering vermin. Together they could have found this child of their love. Alone, he lost heart.

He had thoughts of taking her to her apartment, yet once he laid her on the water colored bedspread the thought of leaving her tore jagged sobs from deep inside his soul. Pure adrenaline trilled thru his powerfully tired body as he had carried her back to his bed in the hopes that the perfect storm of the two of them being where they shared their earliest days would reignite her life force. Her body just grew colder. Vincent penned a carefully worded "Good-bye" note to Father and his family then exchanged it for Catherine's limp body in his bed.

It was once said, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Tonight's journey was much more than that; it was an exercise in destruction. Between Vincent and Catherine, it seemed as if their entire relationship was conveyed in mere words, heady and descriptive word yet just words.

Catherine had floundered in her desire, alone in her bed concocting plans for Vincent's seduction. Sadly, caresses or full out kisses were elusive to their lips. Only once she found herself in the full grip of "loving" when she administered her sexually charged resuscitation. Vincent woke without a clue to her identity she simply stumbled away paralyzed that he would feel corralled This graceful runner between two worlds stumbled at the thought that Vincent couldn't remember her, that he had no recollection of their consummation.

Then as she discovered their new creation she lost her nerve to divulge her "gift". How many nights had she lain awake wishing to rewind time, stay below and face Vincent's incredulity? She'd need all the gumption she had lost below when she faced Moreno and a series of the Gabriel's henchmen.

Tonight, on the bridge over the Abyss, their paths to Hell intersected. "Tonight this ends," Vincent wept as he balanced her light weight in his muscled arms, "My sweet love. You've held my heart for so long now; our only promise of a reunion is in death." Vincent felt the warmth of his body seep out of him as his desire to live drained away. "Death, too, bids me come without delay." Vincent held her closer to nuzzle at Catherine's peach soft cheek. Then, as he prayed for absolution within his conflicted heart, he turned his back to the maelstrom of swirling mist and let the two of them drop into the enveloping vapor.

Father's safety admonitions played in an endless loop as they fell. As his body propelled downward he gratefully bore her weight over his body. His senses were on high alert, feeling her weight he craved the memory of her loving him, he wished that to be his last thought. He mourned their communion would be on that spiritual plane where souls danced eternally. The mist permeated his consciousness and brought with it glorious images of their loving. His body stirred with the effects of recollecting her love, the warmth she had infused on that sandy floor now filled them both, cocooning them in their descent.

_Their fall seemed interminable._

It was late, past midnight when he pushed his front door open. Joe Maxwell angrily pulled off his necktie and threw it on the coat rack in his foyer. Hell of a foyer, it was a three foot by three foot linoleum patch between the front door and the kitchen in his apartment. Cathy Chandler was missing, presumed dead. Missing for months, he never expected to find the scene he had witnessed. The ersatz delivery room set up in an office looked surreal. Primarily, he hadn't known Cathy was pregnant and the last time he saw her she didn't look pregnant. Joe knew pregnant, his sisters would "glow" within days of their conceiving.

Cathy had been a bit of a private person for as long as he knew her there were glaring absences in her social life. Joe chalked it up to his being her boss…a girl wouldn't share her personal life with her boss. He had just overlooked all the clues. He toed off the loafers and shuffled to the refrigerator to chug out of the glass water jug. He would have poured a shot, but he had to stay sober, he had to feel all of his angst to process his anger into energy to solve this heinous crime. He could negotiate with God all he wanted; they were miles away from finding where Cathy or perhaps her body was secreted.

Father's gait was especially stiff this morning. Months of dealing with the ghosts of Paracelsus' demonic acts had left him "a quart low" as his own father might say. He wanted to go to Vincent this morning; he knew Vincent had pounded out of the tunnels the night before "feeling" something of Catherine. Having perched at his desk, he had hoped to hear Vincent return triumphantly with Catherine on his arm; but Father had fallen asleep over stacks of books. Somewhere between four and six a.m., Father roused painfully and fell into bed for whatever sleep he could gather. Eerily quiet this morning, he woke when he heard Pascal's eight a.m. taps.

"Jacob, are you ready to eat?" Mary's gentle voice rounded the corner, although she stood out of sight – giving him the privacy she had always afforded him.

"Certainly, Mary, is Vincent joining us?" Father wrapped his robe's belt around his waist and shoved stockinged feet into his slippers. Picking up his cane he met her at the small table where they frequently shared meals.

"He's not up yet. He had a bad night last night, didn't he?" Mary's pained expression spoke of her concern for Vincent. The weeks of aching had grown into months, and she had watched Vincent fade to a shadow of his grand self. "Should I check on him? I can move more quietly than you, Jacob." Mary's friendly hands dropped to Jacob's shoulders as he sat pouring their first cup of tea. Jacob only had to nod for her to step lightly toward Vincent's chamber.

Mary's scream was heard all the way to the sentry station and set off a cacophony of emergency codes along the pipe.

When Vincent woke, his confusion mounted at his surroundings. The ground beneath him was pliant and green as the freshest meadow in literature. The golden sunlight above him was pleasant and unglaring as cottony clouds passed over his head. He felt no bruises even though he had to have landed on his back. Catherine...where was she?

Lying beside him, as if she had simply fallen out of his sleeping arms, Catherine's chest rose and fell with a regular rhythm. Catherine was alive!

He excitedly rolled to his side and looked at her as the Prince would gaze at Snow White in her glass coffin. Wildly splayed waves of her hair caressed her face as she lay sleeping. Graceful fingers protectively rested over her belly; as if unaware of their son's birth, she seemed to shield their child even in sleep.

His eyes regarded the effects of months of harsh treatment. Needle marks and bruises up and down her reedy arms brought sadness to Vincent's erratically beating heart. The hospital gown bore the scents and stains of too many hours of her painful labor and delivery. Not only was Vincent affected by her blood's coppery tang but his soul clenched at the scent of the amniotic fluid that cushioned his son when he couldn't. Catherine's thighs were stained with blood and Betadine, glistening with dried sweat.

Seeing her like this was intolerable, and Vincent rose to his knees to find a pond or a river to cleanse and comfort her. Yet this was a profoundly alien atmosphere for him; and when he should have hovered under his hood as he surveyed the landscape, he threw back his hooded cape and stood tall in the bright fall weather. The air was warmly alive, odd for October, yet he didn't hear the traffic's drone or sirens of New York City. His first thoughts were for shelter and safety. How long would they be here? How could he make up for the barbarous treatment? His clawed hand shook his clothes into place as he assessed their situation.

Her voice called him back to her side, and she was wrapped in his arms within seconds, sharing each other's warmth as they silently caressed. Whatever scheme had separated them was forgotten as she melted into his lap, she was "home" within his arms. "With everything I am, I love you Catherine," and he let his lips graze over her hair, relishing this moment.

"You did indeed, Vincent, and our son is the evidence of that love. Where is he?" she lifted her head from his chest and squinted at the daylight's glare. "Where are we for that fact?" Now Catherine sat within her lover's arms and fought for lucidity.

"I have a terrible confession." Vincent's eyes dropped to his lap, the expanse of Catherine's thigh as it disappeared under the dingy hospital gown. "In my grief, I did a heinous thing." Although the confession was painful, he was comforted by her arms around his waist, the feel of her warm skin lying against his corduroy trousers as she nestled in his lap. "I swear, you died in my arms, and I was despondent." Their eyes met, and Catherine's registered confusion, yet he continued, "I carried you to the Abyss. I turned my back on the Abyss and let us fall into the mist." Vincent continued to nuzzle her warm golden hair as if falling to your death were an everyday act.

"And we're here?" Catherine's worried eyes perused the land around them as she supposed.… "Where is here?"

"Read the letter, Rebecca." Jacob Wells stroked his chin and then turned to the young woman holding the sheet of parchment. She nodded and repeated the few words Vincent had scripted much earlier this morning. Jacob Wells understood Vincent's life had been a protracted and meandering road of discovery. In all his tirades against this topsider's involvement with his son, he had realized they had all been losers in his argument. Father hung his head over clasped hands then spoke decisively, "We will not speak of this. There is to be no discussion of Vincent's letter. Is that understood?"

Whatever Father would "decree," it wouldn't matter, as now Vincent and Catherine would be in the arms of death, together.

Joe leaned back in his leather "match" recliner, fully fed up with Moreno's suspension. Each day he would put on a shirt and tie and haunt all the locations Cathy Chandler had noted in her files. Sure he had been suspended, but it wouldn't stop him from hunting her keepers. He'd find himself following a trail of bread crumbs left by a saxophone player and a bike messenger. Yet now he struck out at so many stops he wondered why he had any faith in these eclectic folk. His last hope was a particularly quirky woman, Detective Diana Bennett.

"Life is made up of years that mean nothing and moments that mean it all. Catherine, what have I done to us?" Vincent's large frame sat in the lush grass, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. Slowly Catherine inspected herself, wincing in twinges of pain as she rolled to her knees behind him.

Her encompassing arms sought to offer some semblance of absolution without even knowing what she was forgiving. She was with Vincent, and together she was sure they would find their son. He bristled within her arms and struggled to rise, to separate himself from her heartfelt embrace. It was surreal that she had conceived their child in one encounter, even more surreal that Gabriel would sequester her as a vessel holding his prize. Those months she cradled her belly she could never "see" the baby inside her. At no time did they ever share the explanation for their pensive gazes at the sonogram screen. She had expected their baby to be born the image of Vincent, why else would Gabriel drone on and on about the mighty child she would bear.

When she saw the smooth hairless baby in the nurse's arms, she was sure the two of them would be killed right there. She had been half right. "Vincent, before we mire ourselves in grief, we need to know where we are." Now it was evident to both of them this grand expanse of lush green grass wasn't New York's Central Park. The air too clean the sound too pastoral for the crush of New York City; their conundrum seemed to be mystical.

"That would be an understatement." Vincent's senses were alive, breathing in the pure, sweet air. Gauging what he could, he squinted into the afternoon's sun covered by cotton candy clouds that slowly drifted into each other. "I have no sense of the drain tunnel; this ground is too expansive for us to be "home," I am sure of one thing. We should find cover, as I can't imagine we've drifted into a land where I am the norm" He fell back to his knees and re-gathered his cape to conceal himself. Catherine shivered in sorrow. After all of the shocks her body and mind had been through, before she could go on, she wanted to find solace and rest within his arms, within his cozy chamber.

"Father, Narcissa asked me to bring this to you." Jamie brought a scroll to Father's desk and stood close enough to show interest. "Father, is it true that Vincent leapt to his death with Catherine in his arms?" That question earned Jamie a coarse glower as Father whipped off his spectacles. This inquiry came too close to the bone, as this was exactly what Vincent's dispatch had confessed he would do. Father reached for his eyeglass cloth, and a fire fall of anguish grabbed at his old heart as he choked up a tall tale. "No such thing has happened, and I'll appreciate your confidence in not spreading rumors." These words caused Jamie to step closer, as if words were written on his forehead.

"Father, you know the Simple Ones still wander the lower levels. What if they forced him deeper below? What if that terrible woman has taken over where Paracelsus left off? What if …."

"Tamara? The Simple Ones?" Father barked back the words as if he wished they had been responsible, then he took a cleansing breath and recounted, "When we need you, Jamie, you know I will be calling a meeting. Nothing will be done without you being called." Father wanted to engage Jamie in whatever response they'd make; she had the heart of a lioness.

As she receded back into the hallway Father gave the ornate scroll his full attention, drawing the hand magnifying glass from the drawer, he scanned for clues within her message.

**'_Your heart crushes with the news, yet be of lighter spirit._**

**_The dimension that holds both heart and soul to hearth and home is not far,but near it._**

**_His loneliness has been reversed by Beauty and their bounty has reaped tears._**

**_In mystery they wear his cloak as they tread a path lost for years._**

**_Your night turns round as ours spins two to one._**

**_Your rain is tears they cry, yet old man, on their return,_**

**_Their family love will eternally burn"_**

"Gibberish, balderdash." Father threw down the parchment paper and dusted the powdery residue from the ornately illuminated parchment. Words about time rolled off Narcissa's lips as if she held the reins. Jacob cursed this note - feeling it laughed in the face of a rational God. Was she preaching alternate universes? Whatever she proposed, he needed translation. 'His loneliness has been reversed by Beauty' of course that meant Vincent and Catherine, what was "their bounty has reaped tears"? They owned nothing together…that Father knew of. So he sent a message for Peter.

As if energized by being with Vincent, Catherine smoothed the dingy hospital gown around her body and rose to walk with Vincent. Where to head? Toward a copse of trees at least a half mile away or toward a path worn in grass as far as they could see? Vincent drew her closer to his side as they set out in silence towards the nearest copse of trees; it held the promise of a place to hide, and rest, and think. Once they sat within the hovering confines of tree limbs bowed close to the grass, Catherine picked at the grass near her, "Vincent, are we dead?" and she swung around to plant her palms on his chest. "I mean, are we in Purgatory or Limbo?"

"I deserve Hell." He gently caught her wrists and held her at a distance as he sought her eyes. "I'm damned by the mortal sin of suicide and taking your life." He dropped her hands back into her lap and turned from her, disgusted with himself as he listened for some sound of humanity. The music of New York City life was silent, no cabs honking, no jet planes overhead.

"Vincent, my Hell for keeping the news of our loving, and my pregnancy, was surviving under the thumb of that criminal, Gabriel." She balled her fists and shook with anger. "If I had put my foot down and insisted on staying Below, I would have jogged your memories of me." Instead of seeking his arms, she leaned back on the massive tree trunk, first drawing her knees up by habit; then realizing her nakedness under the short gown, she hastily sat more modestly.

Vincent perceived her words and winced. Must we rehash this? He trembled as he caught the sight of her trying to cover herself, "Here, take this." Vincent swung his cloak over her, deciding the debate of her modesty versus hiding his form. Lovingly wrapping the black cloak around her, he buried his head in her shoulder as he knelt behind her. "Clear your mind, Catherine. We need to stop this self-destruction now." He lost his logic as he imagined those misplaced months and the thought of being a family below right this minute. "If only within ourselves, we have to discern what clues we see as to where we are and how to return home to find our son."

"We know the office building had unusual security," Diana began as she measured coffee beans into the grinder. "They had "bought off" the fire department to avoid regular inspections. The umbrella corporation was "Atrum Angelus," the same outfit that buggered Elliott Burch out of solvency." Diana's voice was smooth, even toned as she extended some semblance of professional hospitality to Joe Maxwell.

"By the time we got there, it was carnage, like something out of a mafia movie. The building security was shot, execution style, on each floor, and we had to start the generators to get power. This Gabriel fellow killed the power once he stepped into that helicopter. If it hadn't been for that kid with the telescope, we wouldn't have the number of the Sikorsky. Good thing the kid was nosy and up past his bedtime."

Uneasily, Joe paced the loft, thinking how much bigger Diana's space was than his walkup. He was distracted by her working out of her home. He was used to the four walls of his office and the comfort it gave him; then he mused, where did that comfort get him now? He watched her tie her long red hair up in a clip as she paced across the kitchen area. Right now Joe was a sore loser, he felt Moreno had robbed him of giving Cathy Chandler any justice.

"But the boy didn't see Cathy get into the helicopter. He saw a man we interpreted to be Gabriel and a nurse carrying something aboard the copter. I'll give the kid an A for creativity; he said a caped man fought with Gabriel's security force. The teenager described the guy as something "biblical." Diana picked up the boy's statement, "long golden hair, dressed like video games character…of course the boy did take these with the telescope mounted camera".

She paced to her board and drew back the drape covering 8x10 black and white glossies of the people of interest, all but two of them dead. Her hand drifted to a blurry image of the back of a large caped figure and the most telling picture of Catherine to date. The black and white photo displayed Catherine, spent, hair drenched in sweat, in a hospital gown splotched with what could be her blood. From the look of the stains on her thighs she might have recently given birth. "Given birth," two words that threw Joe and Diana's theories over her captivity into a fury of confusion.

"What?" Joe's eyes darted from image to image on the board as he dug his hands deep into his pockets, shaking his change in one side, his keys on the other. He watched Diana return to the task of making coffee and waited impatiently.

"He saw a woman in a hospital gown drag herself toward this mythic figure, and the two of them huddled together; then the caped fellow carried the woman who we believe to be Catherine Chandler back down, using the roof door." Diana closed the file and handed it to Joe just to keep his hands busy. It would be a few minutes until their coffee brewed.

Vincent and Catherine had lapsed into that fatigue induced state where they hovered and stared blankly toward nothing in particular…until the sound of another being encroached on their acreage. Vincent's ears pricked up at the sound of the October leaves crushing under light foot falls. Protectively, Vincent drew Catherine into his lap, and his eyes scanned the clearing as they watched a child take light steps from behind tree after tree until the boy stood before them, guileless.

"Love trusts, fear suspects…Love allows, fear dictates...Love forgives, fear blames… Love chooses, fear avoids….Love heals, fear hurts…Love is an elixir, fear is a poison…Love inspires, fear worries.…." The child's voice overwhelmed them; lyrically it spellbound them to the child, who looked quite like a lost boy, somewhat fae by his luminosity.

Frozen, yet not by fear, Vincent and Catherine were silently expectant. The child stood in the sunlit clearing clad in only a loin cloth, his strawberry curls catching the day's sun. He posed tentatively, two fingers in his mouth as he eyed them in his "space."

"Mr. Burch, you have Detective Bennett requesting a moment of your time." Elliott bristled at his secretary's voice through the intercom. Usually detectives weren't that polite to "request a moment." Running his hands through his hair, he rose and tightened his necktie as he walked to his office door. He'd get rid of this detective just like he'd run off all the other guys who poked into his business. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her. Lithe and pale, she appeared to be resolute. Elliott was not amused.

"Detective Bennett?" Elliott thrust a hand forward only to have Diana walk right past him to the chair in front of his desk; before she sat she turned and waited for Elliott to return to his chair. He seemed mesmerized by her demeanor and silent control.

"I'm investigating the disappearance of Catherine Chandler, and I understand you are a friend of hers." Diana's eyes roved the collection of nicely framed photos of Burch with the cream of society; there in the very center was the most prominently framed photo of Elliott and Cathy Chandler at an art gallery. Elliott's eyes had followed Diana's, and they both silently peered at his favorite photo of the two of them. It actually was his only photo of the two of them.

"And I've spoken to officers before; perhaps you have something new to ask me?" Elliott didn't want to talk about the night he met Cathy Chandler; it hurt far too much.

"At the time of her disappearance, had you been seeing Cathy Chandler?" Diana's earnest eyes bored into Elliott's.

"I hadn't seen Cathy for months." His voice was dismissive, yet it carried an inherent sadness. "She had made it clear she wouldn't…couldn't get involved with me." Now Elliott rested back against his high leather chair, staring blankly at their photo.

Diana leaned farther forward, as if physically pursuing Elliott. "And was that because she was otherwise involved?" Her eyes and words poked at him; she needed to know if it was bad enough for Elliott to do something rash. Had Elliott been the guy to have his chauffer make laps around Central Park while he warmed up Cathy's love seat? Would he be the guy to harass her if she was warming the love seat with someone he didn't deem acceptable?

"It sounded that way. She was never definitive about it." Elliott sniffed at the statement. "Detective Bennett, I would do anything to bring Cathy back, whether she was Mrs. Burch or Miss Chandler. Unfortunately, I've been trampled by a corporate mogul with my destruction in mind." Elliott spun a stack of spreadsheets her way. "This outfit, Atrum Angelus, has torn me a new as…. Excuse me. I was going to say, they've destroyed me"

Diana sat there knowing this was a common denominator between Elliott and Cathy. "Are you personally familiar with anyone connected to this group?"

"Are you asking me if I pissed someone off behind closed doors? Did I win at too many high stakes poker games?" As Elliott yanked at motives, his voice raised in anger.

Diana rose from the chair and withdrew a business card. "If you have any revelations you'd like to share, call me." Elliott's complexion blanched at their short conversation, and she knew a man smitten when she saw one. The only productive thing about this afternoon's work was the pleasant walk she had from meeting to meeting.

"Did it ever seem happiness was just outside your finger's grasp?" the fae child probed as he stood before Vincent and Catherine, curious about their being in his grove. He knew why they were here, yet he had been admonished not to "lead" the discussions, poke and prod a tad, but not lead them to their conclusions.

"What would make us happy would be to know where we are," Catherine lapsed into "legal" mode.

With that declaration, the boy circled them, arms out, palms up as if it were evident, "This is an impasse. Don't you recognize it? Catherine, you are Catherine, right?" he bristled at the thought he might be speaking to the wrong couple.

"How do you know us?" Vincent's eyes narrowed as he drew Catherine back into his lap, his arms around her waist. Half indignant toward the child she leaned forward and repeated Vincent's question.

"Within each of us, there's a conscience…the voice that reconciles our actions. You two share me." The child plopped down before them and folded his hands in his lap. "You both have some realizations to reconcile"

"So we've arrived here…outside of all reality," Vincent huffed at the boy, then released a bit of the strangle hold he had on Catherine. Of her own accord, she shimmied close to him.

**"_Your heart crushes with the news, yet be of lighter spirit."_**

**_The dimension that holds both heart and soul to hearth and home is not far, but near it._**

**_His loneliness has been reversed by Beauty and their bounty has reaped tears._**

**_In mystery they wear his cloak as they tread a path lost for years._**

**_Your night turns round as ours spins two to one._**

**_Your rain is tears they cry, yet old man, on their return,_**

**_Their family love will eternally burn"_**

"That's what Narcissa shared with Father. We're waiting to hear what the two of you have decided." The boy spoke with a maturity beyond his years.

"Decided?" They both uttered the same words as they turned to each other for clarity.

"Sir, respectfully…before Catherine's kidnapping, you consistently overstepped decisions about your future together." The child held his hand up to abate either of them speaking. "Miss, you whipped yourself into a physical frenzy waiting for Vincent to acquiesce to a carnal relationship." Then, as if he were bored by sitting, he rolled to his feet and gaily moved about them. "Catherine wasn't able to face you with the outcome of your loving, and then it was far too late." Now that seemed to hurt the boy; he hung his head as he cut his dance short. "It's frightening opening up to each other, stripping everything down to just the two of you"

Catherine had softened from her fear of this place. It seemed that Narcissa knew something of the future she had doubted.

"Now, the clock ticks while the two of you stare at each other." The boy shook his shaggy head and skipped off following a butterfly, leaving the couple intent on their mission.

"Catherine, it appears as if we haven't died, that we've been given a reprieve in order to come to an understanding." Vincent ducked his head as he prepared for this overdue conversation.

"Understanding is an understatement." Catherine's grim expression melted to nearly a smile as she settled in the grass, out of his lap. "Vincent, I'm past the stage of unrequited love." She rose, clutching the voluminous cape around her, her past frustrations boiling up inside her. "I languished in my bed year after year within my stifled desire, praying for you to touch me." Now her complexion was nearing florid as he recognized she was experiencing all of that frustration again, her slim arm emerged from under the cape and pointed a finger at him. "Don't you dare deny that you felt it – you feel my fear, my joy, you felt it all until our child's heartbeat blotted my emotions out."

Vincent had faced her eyes, the honesty of her words searing into his heart. "Catherine, I was raised with the risks, all of that drummed into me. The reality of losing you was doubly troubling; first I lost my sense of you and then the reality of your kidnapping tore at me as I held you on the roof." He rose to begin his practice of pacing the patch of grass around them. "All those nights apart I replayed the tired arguments I had given you."

"Vincent, we had so many near occasions." Catherine buried her face momentarily.

"Those occasions were like rose buds sliced off before they could bloom." Vincent stood, running a hand through his shock of golden hair.

"Vincent, now we have the future if it is what we're given after this." Catherine's eyes revealed her fear of what they were being given.

She eyed her love, standing tall against the corona of morning sunlight infusing him with a romantic glow. His hand wiped at his face, as if to remove a layer of shame. His mouth was dry; his tongue swiped at his bottom lip while Catherine waited to hear more. "I had convinced myself everything physical that I could feel for you was sordid, that any of my desires were unnatural." Now his face burned as he dropped his head into his hands.

"Oh, Vincent," Catherine stepped to rescue him, "you knew what I sought; because it was the same for you, and none of it was unnatural. I've never been an empath, but in my heart I know you wanted me as much as I've always desired you. We've loved each other for so long, Vincent!" Catherine's arms encircled his shoulders, and she pressed closely to him, impressing herself against the broad leather belt at his waist.

The two of them standing in the sunlight, embracing tightly was certainly a fantasy of his, possibly the tamest. It was certainly far, far away from the clutching, and sweating visions of the two of them twisted in his bed. Vincent closed his eyes, savoring the scent of "right now," when he was brusquely snapped back to "now."

"Vincent, I took advantage of you, and it was brilliant, and you didn't remember it." She pressed her cheek into his chest and felt his rapid heartbeat. "I carried that experience and relived it every night while we were apart." She stepped back from him, her palms pressed flat against his muscled chest. "When the labor pains took over and pulled me through hell, I focused on the sweet, sweet moment when you came back to me, when you responded to my touch."

Vincent's mind swam through alibis piled high in his mind; he had been more tortured that his response to her caused her pregnancy. If not for that pregnancy, there would have been no kidnapping. No kidnapping, and he wouldn't have found himself here…in a field…needing to confront his fears of a physical commitment with Catherine.

"My fear has always been that I would harm you. What greater harm could I inflict than to leave you pregnant…that my enemies would hold you captive? That, Catherine, is worlds worse than scarring your body with my hands or my teeth." Vincent was holding her hands in his as his voice dropped into silence. Catherine lifted her hands, pulling his toward her lips.

"I have weathered a world of demons for the sake of this angel I hold in my hands." She lightly kissed his palms in between her words, leaving Vincent breathless. "What I need to know, I believe what we need, is to break this impasse and make our plans for our future."

"Our future," those words resonated through his bones, warming him. All that he had dreamed was materializing. Catherine was with him, accepting all that he is, and he was at a place within himself to accept it. Here was a woman of substance, worn ragged by criminals because of her love for him and yet, she cherished what they had as she waited for him to face his needs.

"I want you, Catherine; if you will have me I will consider myself the most fortunate…" Vincent's words halted as his mouth stumbled over the word "man."

"Man, Vincent, you are the most fortunate man." She kissed his neck where a few auburn hairs escaped his open shirt. "We love each other. In a brutal world, couples are there for each other, forever." Now as Catherine knelt before him she seemed ten feet tall; his heart filled his chest with a warm rumble as he processed her words. "We have been given a second chance, Vincent. Now is the time to let go of the past, make vows for the future and work together to find our son."

Each of them fought happy tears as they knelt in the cool grass embracing each other. It felt so natural right now for Vincent to fall backward and pull his Catherine over him. She lay in his arms as if they shared a single heart; silently their souls spoke back and forth, pledging forever to each other. There under the spreading limbs of some sprawling tree, he was impelled to share, "In our world, few of the couples actually marry. They come together and make their promises to each other privately and then establish their chamber." Vincent drew a cautious breath as he felt Catherine preparing to reply.

"What about the wedding I attended?" She rose up from his warm chest to look directly into his powerful blue eyes.

"They were both from Above. Eventually they would need their status to be official." Vincent's throat nearly constricted at her question. "Livvy and Kanin bonded to each other within weeks of meeting," he volunteered, fishing for their best situation.

"And see how their love forged through his legal problems? He came home, and they picked right up where they were separated." Catherine dropped her ear down to his chest again, and she inhaled deeply, savoring his leather and smoke aroma.

"Would our impasse be broken if we were to make our pledges to each other right now?" Vincent drew her up to rest in his lap, holding both her hands to his heart.

"I do believe that would be the greater part of it." Catherine smiled at the inevitable next question, "Then, as your wife, would you take me to your bed, Vincent? Would you take me to your bed to love fully?" And with that question she felt his body course with heat.

"Catherine, just as soon as we are home, I'll most joyously take you to my bed…. I mean as soon as you are able." Vincent stumbled over his intentions, feeling one part awkward and one part wolf.

"I know what you mean. I know I'm in no condition to entertain my fantasies. Something tells me as soon as we rematerialize, I am going to be dragging and in need of some medical attention." She blushed at those fantasies, and he felt her intentions deeply enough to turn his head and blush. Catherine caught his chin and blessed him with a kiss.

Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Joe had run up seven flights of stairs and stood breathless, banging on her back door. "Diana, I've fought hell for this, we got the safe house address." Diana came to the metal back door; she had been up all night on a juvenile kidnapping. Now she ran, clutching her terry robe over her camisole and underwear. Unlocking the series of locks, she stepped back feeling Joe's energy push open the door.

"The bastard flew the helicopter around the block and behind a taller building, here." Joe pushed the map across the kitchen island. Resting on her elbows Diana pulled red tendrils back from her face all the while she scanned the neighborhood. "We want to go in Saturday night, you free?" Joe leaned close; his breath washed warmly over her cheek, and his proximity left her waiting to see if he came closer.

"I'll open up my calendar for this. Was the building connected to….?" Diana didn't even finish the sentence.

"Atrum Angelus." Joe withdrew a folded newspaper business page; above the fold was am image of an edgy eyed slim man. "Gabriel is here, third from the right. You can read him from his body language, standing apart from the rest of his cohorts, the icy look in his eyes." His wash of warm breath reflected the lavender essence Diana had washed in. The sultry floral scent forced him to step around the island. Now they stood across from each other, as being that close to Diana for that short a time was too intense; he had to gain space between them. Joe wondered why the women he worked with meant so much to him. Catherine was gone…no body, no evidence to lead a trail…along with a part of Joe's heart. Diana had sunk a hook in his soul from the first time she refused the Chandler Case; she was resolute, forceful and organically expressive.

"So we move, we retrieve the child, then what?" Diana fussed with her robe, wishing she hadn't been asleep, wishing Joe hadn't wakened her right now.

"Seems that Dr. Alcott is the Executor of her estate; we deliver the child to him." Joe's expression changed at the mention of relinquishing his last connection to Cathy.

Vincent had stepped away from Catherine and left her shrouded in his cape. Behind the broad trunk of the tree, he found wild flowers swaying –inviting him to weave their pliant stems into a coronet for his Catherine; then working quickly, he braided a length of flowers to wrap around their hands as they spoke their vows. "Are your eyes closed?" he asked, secreting the items behind his back as he ducked around the rough trunk to confirm her answer.

"Of course I even have my hands over my eyes." Her voice was sweet and young, devoid of the pain she experienced hours ago. Was it hours ago?

"Stand still, I have something for you. When I say so, open your eyes." He made gentle steps toward her, and once before her he held the floral wreath. "For you to wear." He placed the delicate braid of Queen Anne's lace into her waiting hands then finger combed her hair to lie over her shoulders. Months apart had let her honey warm hair grow long and luscious. Then he gently crowned her and laid his forehead to rest against hers. "Are you ready to make our vows?"

They shared a sweet expectant joy in those seconds before he stood tall and proud. Catherine offered her left hand to him, and Vincent began, "Because of you, I laugh, I smile I dare to dream again. I look forward in boundless joy, to spending the rest of my life with you, caring for you, nurturing you, being there for you in all life has for us; and I vow to be true and faithful for as long as we both shall live."

Catherine's eyes glowed with his words and with a gentle squeeze she began her vows, "Our miracle lies in the path we have chosen together. I enter these vows with you knowing that the true magic of love is not to avoid changes, but to navigate them successfully. Let us commit to the miracle of making each day work – together." She felt his joy as sure as she felt her own. In her desire to cement Above and Below, she continued, "Our love has opened windows to the worlds we lived in as children. I have found profound respect for the Tunnels; but, I was not part of it. As we vow to live our lives together, we will be a new creation."

Before his final words, Vincent wrapped the floral length around both their arms in a binding but not tied manner. "With this cord, I bind us to these vows which we have made. This binding is not restrictive by the other; it is only enforced by our will to be together."

In their expectant silence Catherine's eyes crinkled with a smile. "Vincent, who says, 'you may kiss your bride?'" His exuberant reaction was the last thing she expected. Vincent caught her up in his arms and swung her in a circle until they tumbled to the soft earth.

"I would surmise I do." And he devoured her lips with his; searing the moment their vows were complete into their hearts forever. With delight they lay in each other arms under their leafy canopy. The time passed as Vincent and Catherine spoke of their dreams for the future, sharing scenarios back and forth, punctuating them with gentle caresses or light kisses. Undecided as to whether it was within a chamber or a Brownstone with Tunnel access, their lives were knitting together with unbridled enthusiasm. "Peter can run interference for us. I have money for investigators. We'll get our son back." Catherine had a newfound optimism once she was in Vincent's arms.

"Peter has been acting in your behalf. He's been below each week, even though he hadn't any news. Can you imagine his face when we return together?" Vincent's smile was a balm on Catherine's healing heart.

"How do we return? Is that little fellow going to come back and expect us to sign something in blood? How do we get home?" She was so anxious for her life to "begin."

The smoke of gunpowder burned Detective Bennett's eyes. Joe had led a larger contingent up the back service entry while Diana had led four men up the front. At her silent signal, they pursued signs of the guards down a hallway as she hung back, gun in hand. Tiptoeing around a corner, she followed the path she had committed to memory from blueprints. As she flung the door open, she found Gabriel hastily filling a briefcase while trying to raise his guard on the intercom. His nerves belied the persona he had always exhibited; Diana panned the gun over the room to him, "Hands up, Gabriel."

"You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man, would you?" Sweat stained his pearl grey suit jacket as he fumbled with keys for the safe.

"If it was the man who had contracts to kill Catherine Chandler and Elliott Burch, I certainly would." She motioned with her handgun, carefully eyeing her surroundings. No footfalls echoed toward them. She backed toward the window on the thirty-second floor, and then shoved Gabriel toward the window. "Where's the baby?" Her Intel had said the child would be in the adjacent room.

"He's in the crib next door," his words cracked with distress as he naturally headed that direction.

"No, I wouldn't go there if I were you. Lay down with your hands behind your back." …..Efficiently she cuffed him around the leg of the desk while she made quick steps back toward to the door, "Where'd your people go, Gabriel?" She was brusque and sharp with him before she popped the nursery door open.

"I don't know." He knew he had been forsaken, and that betrayal fueled his curt reply. Ignoring her, he fought the weight of the desk for his freedom. Within seconds Diana had the baby swaddled in a blanket, laying the child safely out of the fray she turned to Gabriel.

"You have the choice of stepping out of that window or taking a bullet; either way only one of us is walking out of here tonight." Diana's voice fell like cold steel on Gabriel's ears. If he could have had a woman like her along with that Beast's child, he could have held the world. There was no way he would walk to his death, he would hold her to her flinty persona and make her shoot him.

"I know who you are Diana. Like your namesake, were you born with a twin brother Apollo?" Gabriel's voice grew acerbic, trying to buy time. She ignored him to walk closer, standing over him. "Are you here for him? Having the power to talk to and control animals, I would assume you know him."

Now Gabriel certainly irritated her! "I'm here for Catherine" and as those words settled on Gabriel's ears they were followed by the report of her .38 special as she put a single bullet between his eyes.

Uncuffing Gabriel's dead body, she holstered her gun and swept up the child.

Peter had graciously accepted the child from Diana's hands, both of them knowing this "hadn't happened." "Detective Bennett, you know the family deeply appreciates your efforts." The good doctor's eyes glistened at the thought he would be the one holding Catherine's child.

"What's his name?" Detective Bennett's natural curiosity rose to the fore.

"Cathy's father was Charles." Peter couldn't say any more. Once his front door closed, Peter made steps toward his threshold.

"Peter, you have the child?" Father had limped to meet his friend at the crossroads of the tunnels. The sight of the baby in Peter's arms nearly knocked the wind out of Father. Once steadied on his walking stick he drew back the blanket from the child's face.

"He is the perfection of each of them." Peter exclaimed in a whisper, "Let me get him to the medical chamber so you can see him." They ambled slowly in silence.

"Detective Bennett brought him to me this evening. Does Vincent have a name? Has he been called? This is his child!" Peter shared the task of unswaddling the infant.

"Vincent is gone, Peter." Father's voice was even and sad.

"Once he knows his son is home, he'll be home!" Peter was used to Vincent's excursions.

"No, Peter. I'm sorry to say that when he found Catherine had died, he took her to the Abyss, and his note said he would join her in their hereafter."

"Romeo and Juliet," Peter sighed "I was afraid that he'd lost all hope when the child was kidnapped."

"It seems, Peter, we have another child to love." Father reacted with solemn submission as he undressed the child. No money had been spared dressing this infant; a finely woven wool blanket covered a luxurious sleeper with pearl buttons. Undressing the placid child, the doctor in him registered the signs of failure to thrive. "Most cases aren't related to neglectful caregiving, although it may be a sign that Vincent's bond with the child precluded the kidnapper from providing adequate care."

"Jacob, what are we to do?"

In their complacency, they seemed to have fallen into that fuzzy place between sleep and awake. Vincent shook to consciousness when his heart took on a distinctive quiver. "Catherine!" Vincent cried as he sat bolt upright, clutching his chest as he seemed to feel a smaller heart alongside his.

"Vincent, what's wrong?" Too much had been happening. Catherine was wrung too tight.

"Not a thing, Catherine, our son. I believe he's been brought home." Vincent paced outside the bower of trees, searching for the odd child who had sentenced them to their discussion. Catherine ran a circle around the back of the tree, not knowing the child's name, or even if he was a child.

"Hey, whoever you are...we need to get home. This has to be over! Are you listening?" her manic energy surprised Vincent as he tried to apply reason and logic to their situation. Infinitesimally on their horizon, Vincent saw a dancing figure moving aimlessly to his own song. Unafraid, Vincent bounded toward the child, his loping gait eating up the grassland. Catherine's stride caught up behind Vincent then she insinuated herself under his arm. They stared the child down, waiting for an answer to their calls.

Adopting his fae stance and lyrical tone he looked up through long eyelashes to pronounce, "A shared joy is a double joy; a shared sorrow is half a sorrow."

Catherine dropped to her knees and caught the boy on his bare shoulders. "Look, whoever you are, we can appreciate the platitudes. We've learned whatever lesson we were sent to learn, and now we have to return home." Her words only caused the child to wiggle out of her grasp and lead them down a worn footpath. Vincent and Catherine ducked and moved tree limbs out of their way as the child began a surreal pace through fragrant undergrowth.

Skidding to a halt, the child turned and extended a hand toward an outcropping of rocks, "Appreciate your aspirations and your imaginings, as they are the children of your soul." They stared at the boy then the rough-hewn cave.

"This goes home?" Catherine questioned her heart like hummingbird's wings. Vincent's hand at the base of her spine quivered, waiting for the boy's determination.

The child's jolly smile revealed his message, "Your courage had hope for nourishment; now is the time to live in that courage and that love. Good-bye, Vincent and Catherine."

Before the boy could turn the grotto into air, Vincent grabbed Catherine's waist and they made their escape. They relished the familiar odors of loam and moss, and with each step the cavern grew more familiar. Within fifteen minutes of walking they passed a beach laden with geodes. "Do you recognize any of this?" Catherine asked warily as she stooped to select a broken one. Their trip had begun to exhaust her, a frightening portent for Vincent.

His materializing fear was that upon their return to his Tunnels, that Catherine would again be dead, that he was trading a bride for a child. Their eyes met over the crystalline prize, and he extended his hand. "Let me carry you awhile." She understood his need to pursue the trail, and she melted into his arms, grateful for the peace she found nuzzling his neck as he made careful strides toward a concealed goal. Captivated by his leathery musk she fell into a soothing slumber. Passing the first sentry, Vincent gruffly directed, "Call Father to meet me at the medical chamber." And by the next junction, he loped mournfully past friends pressed back against the tunnel wall.

Vincent summoned the last of his breath and bellowed at the chamber portal, "Father!" The sound of his beloved voice after the cryptic sentry message shook Peter and Father into their medical mode. If they were shocked by Vincent's presence or Catherine's unresponsive body, they never let on. Cool medical heads guided their experienced hands assessing their patient. "They used morphine." Vincent stood back, wringing his hands, not noticing the hospital screen on the far side of the room.

"Peter, can you access more naloxone?" Father eyed the vial as he withdrew a dose.

Peter had busied himself setting up the IV and catheter as Father's right hand. Now he hesitated and checked his watch. "Whatever you need, Jacob"

As was Mary's nature, she materialized beside Vincent and spirited him down the hallway toward her chamber. "Vincent, you know they're doing everything…."

"I recognize that, Mary. My fear is that one will be traded for the other. When I felt our child was returned to us, we were given the way home." He sat on the hassock, his head in his hands. Her diminutive figure perched over him, her arms over his shoulders.

Bowing close she whispered, "Do you want to hold your son?" With Vincent's nod, she invited him, "Come back with me." With a loving Mother's touch, Mary led a rather catatonic Vincent behind the medical screen. "Sit down," she whispered as she ignored Father and Peter's serious medical dialogue over Catherine's care. Vincent's sad eyes followed Mary's every move around the IV tubes and the swaddled infant, who seemed horribly still.

"Is there any hope for him, Mary?" Vincent's voice broke as she put the bundle in his waiting arms.

"Hope? Oh, Vincent, where there is love, there is always the promise of hope. Son, days ago you didn't have Catherine or your son. Tonight they're both with us."

Vincent drew a deep breath and drew the child to his shoulder where he could breathe in his innocent aura, meet his gaze. "Perhaps if he meets his Mother, the two of them will have a moment to bond."

Mary nodded and directed the IV pole as Vincent made silent steps toward Catherine on the medical gurney.

Vincent's words, "Father, may we have a moment?" stunned Jacob, and he halted Peter's next administration. They paid close attention as Vincent unwrapped the tiny infant from the blanket. Seeing Vincent's intention, Peter withdrew the sheet from Catherine's torso. Mary lifted off the tiny nightshirt, and Vincent laid the child skin to skin on Catherine. The four of them encircled the mother and child, hands clasped in silent meditation.

The pipe code in the background took on a familiar cadence, as if the tap was a quarter note followed by an eighth note twice per measure in 6/8 time. Slowly the code escalated as it seemed that Catherine's heartbeat and respiration paralleled the rhythm. Her color improved before their eyes, and in turn so her son's. Vincent dropped to his knees to embrace the two of them, his lips close to her ear. "Catherine, we're here – our son, Peter, Father and Mary….all of them, come back to us."

Vincent trembled, anticipating that their catacombs would hold all who were precious to him. He fought the pervasive feeling that all he'd hold was memories. Her invitation to have him take her to his bed was secondary to wanting her living and breathing within his embrace. He wanted to hear her healthy heartbeat swimming beside him in the lakes Below. He wanted to hear her laughter in fits at the Tunnel children's antics, and one day at their child's shenanigans.

Vincent visualized their time gone by and knew that the fae child had promised them a future. They had settled their impasse. This existing scenario was wrong! He laid his cheek on her shoulder, eyes closed, awash in the scent of his woman and his child. Their breathing synchronized. After a time, Vincent startled at the gentle hand on his cheek, eyes wide open he saw Catherine wide awake, her fingers drawing back from his face.

"Vincent?"

"Yes, beloved?" His words sweetened with his broad smile.

"I think our son is hungry." The rosy cheeked infant gnawed on his fist as his other smacked at the air. As Vincent raised his head, he saw his amazed family standing back from the gurney. Mary's feet flew to gather a shawl for Catherine's privacy; Peter grabbed his stethoscope to monitor their vitals while Father stood flustered at the miracles before him. All of the sudden activity dispelled the pervasive scent of wood smoke mixed with antiseptics.

"Can we get a more comfortable bed?" Vincent asked as he lifted his precious cargo off the gurney.

The trio cleared a path out of the medical chamber leading toward Vincent's chamber. Bustling to clear back the quilt, Mary stepped back to adore the sight of Vincent climbing into the corner of the bed, his legs spread to hold Catherine with their child. They could see he wasn't letting them out of his grasp.

By Vincent's estimation, this tableau had been far too long in coming.

"Mouse thought he saw Vincent with Catherine."

"Did we see a baby in Catherine's arms?"

"Vincent's chamber is closed. Where did they go?"

"If Vincent fell into the Abyss, where did he come out? How did he get back?"

Father's head spun with the barrage of questions. He had intended to gather a muffin and an apple when he had slipped into the dining hall.

"Please...give them some time. Catherine has delivered their son, it was a tumultuous delivery, and within the week, I am sure they will receive visitors."

For Mouse, this simply wasn't enough, "Is it a baby like Vincent or a baby like Catherine?" Of course that question opened the subject of gender and size and hair color!

"Well, Mouse, it seems their child is a boy, who is most like Catherine, with eyes just like Vincent's." He felt a certain satisfaction as he described his grandchild. Yes, his first grandchild! "And his hair is the color of Vincent's." Father was on a roll.

The family, as Vincent began to consider them, had taken a well-deserved bath together in fragrant waters. Neither of them was well versed with infants, and their son gurgled at their attempts to clean and dry and diaper his wiggling self. After Catherine had swaddled their son, Vincent made a pallet within sight of the bathing pool so they could bathe at their leisure.

Catherine gratefully sat on the step as Vincent delicately washed her hair. "Don't stop. That feels heavenly." She fell back into Vincent's lap. Vincent's heart was set on burning today's memory into his heart. No matter what behavior this child might inflict on them (after all he could take on some of Uncle Devin's traits); Vincent would savor the sweetness of their coming back into "life" within his arms. "Remember what you promised me?" Catherine giggled her question.

Not that Vincent balked at the answer; he was weighing all the promises he had made to her.

"As I was in that in between state, you recited a poem to me, and it reminded me of your promise." Her eyes dipped to their bodies below the waterline. They shared a blush between them and Vincent's brow arched high with the tilt of his wet head.

"Ah, the promise to take you to bed when you recovered. Yes, I fully intend to keep that promise." He rinsed her hair and pulled her into the depths of the water so the current could carry away the bubbles. Once he directed a cautious eye toward their sleeping child, he returned his attention to Catherine, gloriously rejuvenated by the bath and their quiet time. "In your dream, Catherine, what poem did I recite to you?" As Catherine's back molded to his chest, he wrapped his arms around her waist. They were becoming a couple, and this was the heaven of it.

"The one by Robert Frost:

_Whose woods these are I think I know._

_His house is in the village, though;_

_He will not see me stopping here_

_To watch his woods fill up with snow._

_My little horse must think it queer_

_To stop without a farmhouse near_

_Between the woods and frozen lake_

_The darkest evening of the year._

Vincent nodded at the familiar words, knowing this would become one of their favorites. His repositioning of his arms a little tighter prodded Catherine to continue.

_He gives his harness bells a shake_

_To ask if there is some mistake._

_The only other sounds the sweep_

_Of easy wind and downy flake._

_The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep_.

"Catherine, I agree. We do have miles to go before we sleep"


End file.
